The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

“Would it do any good to waste words that I know you would not believe?” He eased back in the saddle. “I am coming with you, Forshee. Whether you like it or not. You may as well use it to your advantage, as I am using your helplessness to mine. I have a feeling this is a hunt we will all remember the rest of our lives. Lead the way, girl.”

She looked at Colvin, saw the set in his jaw, the defiance in his eyes. Every instinct within him warned that they could not trust Dieyre. She could see it plainly written on the criss-cross of his eyebrows, the frown so deep on his mouth.

“You do not need to look to him for permission, love,” Dieyre told her. “He has already decided. He will do anything to save his sister. As will I. Do you need my help getting past the watchmen guarding the road? We are on horseback so I assume we are not using the tunnels.”

Dieyre was right. Colvin had decided. She could see it plainly on his scowl.

“No, I think we can manage well enough,” Lia replied. She needed to use the orb to find Ellowyn and Marciana. In the dark, it tended to glow rather brightly and she knew it would be difficult hiding it from him. She did not relish the thought of him knowing that she had it or that she could use it. The less she said, the better.

She opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew the golden orb. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw it. He looked at her questioningly.

“The Aldermaston gave it to me,” she answered, which was true in a real sense. In her mind, she thought of Ellowyn’s face. She imagined how worried she was, how much she had feared being abducted by the Pry-rians and forced to marry someone who did not even speak her language. She saw her frightened eyes, the dull color of her hair and let herself be drawn in to the need to find her. A safe road that would help them catch her.

The orb began to whir and then the spindles pointed clearly. Lia gave Dieyre a challenging look. “Try and keep up.”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:

Shrewberries

Lia could not believe her good fortune in finding a thicket loaded with ripe shrewberries. The patch grew wild and was thick with thorns, but plentiful with dark pink fruit – surprisingly so considering its remote location in the Bearden Muir. It was late in the day and she was hot, weary, and soaked with sweat. Colvin and Dieyre kept up with the punishing pace, but she could see Colvin swaying in the saddle, exhausted by the hard ride and lack of sleep. Muck and mud spattered their mounts which foamed at the mouth with the efforts.

“Rest the horses,” Lia suggested, pulling short of the thicket and dismounting.

“There is daylight left,” Dieyre countered. “Ride on.”

“We have tortured the beasts enough for today,” Lia said. “Some of us need rest as well.” She crouched by the thicket and began plucking buds of fruit from the thorny stems. They were juicy and fat and she tasted their sweetness, finding only the hint of bitterness. The patch was in a well-lit spot, so the sun had ripened them. They were delicious.

Dieyre’s horses snorted and wheezed, but he looked around distastefully. “What are those? Thimbleberries?”

“We call them shrewberries in this Hundred,” she replied. “You are like as not to prick your fingers on the stalks, so be careful. They are very soft. You have to eat them right away.” She stuffed another one in her mouth. Each had hard little seeds that contrasted with the softness. “They will not keep, so eat your fill.”

Colvin slumped off the saddle and approached, his face haggard and weary. She recognized the expression – saw the tight, tired lines around his eyes. He was irritable when tired, so she did not speak to him.

“We are wasting daylight,” Dieyre complained.

Lia felt impertinent. “No, you are wasting an opportunity to fill your belly with something better than mushrooms. It is always wise to stop and savor what the wilderness puts in your path, like a coney or a deer. Always be ready for the gift and be grateful.”

Colvin pricked himself on a thorn and snatched his hand back. She had picked enough to fill her palm and offered them to him. Her fingers were quick and more dextrous than his. He took them with a grateful nod and started eating them ravenously.

She picked more, eating as she went, searching for the easiest fruit. Dieyre studied her a moment, scowling, and then swung off the saddle and joined in the feast. He also pricked his hand, but he did not accept any of the morsels she offered. After eating several, his expression changed.

“How far do you think they are from us?” he asked her.

“I do not know,” she answered truthfully. “We are not going the same way they did.”